Always A Step Behind
by Call me Indecisive
Summary: Three-shot: Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson train for the CIA together, but one day he turns rogue, disappearing without a trace. Annabeth is assigned to find him and she gives chase, while he eludes her, leaving valuable information that many spies would die for. Is he the rogue and traitor she suspects or the great spy and loyal... friend that she once knew?
1. Chapter 1

**So this is going to be a three-shot (because I couldn't fit this into a one-shot), obviously about Percabeth (because they are OTP) as CIA agents. (Because I love spy stuff)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Always a step behind **

"No! No, I need it _now _La Rue- he is _right_ there! Backup should have arrived _eight_ minutes ago!"  
"Hold it together, Chase, it's just an extra thirty seconds." Clarisse cocked her gun, back against the wall. "He's not going anywhere."

Annabeth Chase tightened the straps of her bulletproof vest before drawing the 9mm pistol tucked into the waistband of her trousers, her expression determined and grim. They'd been chasing this gods-damned bastard for nearly a year and each time they got close- he disappeared. It was like the guy had a third eye or something.  
_Not this time_, Annabeth told herself.  
"Uh, actually- they won't be here for a few more minutes, boss." said the voice in her earpiece. She deduced it must be Nakamura, from the gruff tone. "McLean's got the perimeter secured and three others got the exits covered."  
"Three?" she cursed. "That's not going to be enough, Ethan. You know we can't mess this up. Mr. D is _not_ gonna give us another shot at this."  
"Sorry, boss. Three's all we got today."

Annabeth inhaled, pressing two fingers to her brow, eyes closed. They were too close to back out now, anyway. "All right." she relented. She cocked her gun, removing the safety.  
"On my count, guys. Remember- we need to be discreet."

The corridor they were currently sequestered in, was long, dark and dank, with two windows on the far side, the glass covered in mold and the Gods knew what else. The whole place stank of cigarette smoke, piss and the moldy smell that she associated with cupboards under sinks. Moldy furniture and soiled rich carpets- and on the ceiling hung an old crystal chandelier, strung with cobwebs that indicated a faded grandeur. An abandoned manor of some rich dude(or lady) who had decided he maintenance was not worth it.  
"Three."  
Clarisse's hand edged toward the handle of the door that she and Annabeth stood on either side of.  
"Two."  
Annabeth tucked a stray strand of her hair back behind her ear, and sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a huff.  
"One."  
Then Clarisse raised her foot, kicking the door down in a heavy thud.  
Annabeth shot her a disgruntled look. "What part of discreet did you not understand?"  
Clarisse opened her mouth, most probably to argue but the former was already inside, her gun trailed at anything in front of her. They stepped into what seemed like an empty ballroom. Tall crumbling columns of concrete held up tapestries that were depressingly moth-eaten and grungy. Her gray eyes roved over everything, noting the tables loaded with packets upon packets of white powder, the still-running portable fan, and the knocked-down chairs. She stepped on something sticky. Red liquid was mixed in a smattering of white powder on the wooden panels of the floor.

_Blood_.  
Clarisse waved at her. She pointed at Annabeth, then up the dangerously unstable set of stairs that led to the second floor.  
_Got it_, Annabeth mouthed. Hefting her gun a bit higher, she walked cautiously up the stairs, testing one at a time. The dirt and loose brick did not make it easy for her to be quiet. The landing the stairs led to was even more of a ruin- with blocks of chipped marble toppled over and scattered. Dust coated everything.  
Blue light seeped out from beneath the second door on the landing, and she froze.

"There's a light inside the second door on the first landing- I'm going in. Standby, La Rue."  
"Copy that, Chase."  
As a child, Annabeth had always had a problem focusing. Her mother called it her 'scattering disorder', where her thoughts would scatter in a million directions, many trains of thought branching out, like a kaleidoscope. The first few years of school were a nightmare, and paired with her dyslexia- she could barely understand anything that went on there. Then her mother had sat her down at her much-despised desk and told her to just close her eyes. She had.  
_"Now listen to your heartbeat." Athena had said. "Deep breath in, deep breath out. Imagine what it is you want to do."  
_Miraculously, it had worked.

She applied that now, taking a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth. Her mother would be proud.  
Then she stepped forward, flinging the door open, gun aimed.

One heartbeat. Two.  
She cursed loudly.  
Clarisse caught up, gun at the ready. She groaned in frustration.  
"He's done it again," she said, gritting her teeth. Lacking the basic maturity Annabeth would have expected from a CIA Agent, Clarisse flung her gun to the floor and stomped on it, swearing like a sailor. "What? What is it, guys?" Ethan asked, agitated, in her ear.  
The two women looked at each other, then at the two men, knocked out cold and tied together, in the middle of the room.

National Geographic played on the television- the source of that flickering light- and nothing else in the room seemed out of the ordinary. Annabeth recognized the men- the one with the scruffy beard was a well-known flesh trafficker and the other with the bald spot was his accomplice.  
A cheetah chased a gazelle in the savannah- the endless blue sky on screen bathing the dark room in its light.  
Big time international criminals, ready for the CIA to pick up, all gift wrapped in rope. How considerate. She was sure there were many teams dedicated to finding and convicting these men, in more than three countries' internal bureaus. And here they were, gift-wrapped and ready to be taken into custody. Frustration ripped through her.

The gazelle on the tv screen leaped over a thicket and succeeded in its escape from the cheetah. Annabeth was ready to bet anything that the _bastard_ had played this on the screen _knowing_ she'd see it and _knowing_ she could understand the metaphor.  
Clarisse conveyed this to the team. Piper swore and Annabeth flinched at the intensity of it as it echoed in her ear.  
"Boss, do we run a perimeter check? He couldn't have gone far."

"Although, he's probably gone already," Clarisse muttered. "Just great."  
She kicked the man on the floor for good measure. He was unconscious anyway, it wasn't like he could feel it.  
Annabeth gripped her hair, just about ready to rip it off her own scalp. "Yeah, Ethan. It's protocol. Call in cleanup. We need to deport these two back to their country. Langley has an agreement with Mossad."  
"What is with this guy? He defaults to the bad side, helps a max security prisoner escape, then shows up here and there, randomly helping us out and evading us each time- what, does he think he's some kind of vigilante Batman or something?" Piper groaned.  
"He always thought he was more of an Aquaman." Annabeth murmured softly, remembering the late nights when he'd drag her to the pool, splashing her with a generous amount of water as he swam the length of the pool and she just sat at the edge with her feet in the water, watching the bright blue patterns the water's reflection made on the walls and ceiling. A pang of sadness and fury resounded within. That man she had met during training, who always had a smile for everyone, an unswerving moral compass and an unquestionable sense of loyalty…. He was gone. And she had no idea why.

"What was that?"  
"Uh, nothing," Annabeth said hurriedly. "Whatever he thinks he is, we still need to bring him in- whether it's for a congratulatory victory party for Batman or a secure cell with a porta-potty for a criminal."  
"You don't really think they'll give him a congratulatory party?" Clarisse snorted.  
"No, I don't. Now, focus. We need to-"  
As she leaned over the men at their feet, she noticed a meticulously folded piece of paper in the shorter one's front coat pocket. She tucked her gun back where it belonged and plucked the note out.

"There's a note, guys," she called out, as Clarisse moved around the room, checking behind the green couch- was it green by color, or fungus infestation? She wasn't sure she wanted to know- as though their target would have hidden behind the furniture.  
She read it out and crumpled it into a ball after she finished, anger coalescing in her stomach.  
"Bastard. He's taunting us. Or, well, _me_ specifically."  
"Langley is so not going to be happy with us," Piper said, her voice somewhat muffled. A distant bang echoed through her line.  
"Pipes?"  
"I'm fine." came her voice. "Just threw a rock at a trash can."  
"This asshole is really screwing things up for us," Annabeth said, tempted to throw something, herself. "We're gonna have to scan this for prints."  
"We already know it's him."  
"Yeah, but it's protocol, La Rue. You never know."  
Clarisse muttered something about ghost fingers and no fingerprints each time, glancing at the paper again.  
"We are so screwed."

Annabeth couldn't help but agree.  
They jumped off the stairs, making their way back to the car. Annabeth opened the letter again, reading the words written in a familiar, lazy scrawl:

_Always a step behind, Chase.  
__Left you a gift, since I'm such a gentleman.  
__Until next time,  
__Percy Jackson_

"Wow, Jackson's really got a boner for you, huh?" Clarisse said, rolling her eyes.  
"Shut it, La Rue." Annabeth growled, crushing and chucking the ball of paper at her.

* * *

**Manhattan, New York  
**_**3 weeks later**_

The man across from her wasn't bad looking: square jaw, light brown hair reaching the top of his ears, a decent smile. He even made mildly interesting conversation, which was more than what could be said of the other two men she'd been on dates with for the past month.

Annabeth picked up the glass of scotch in front of her and took a sip, feeling slightly off-balance. What was she doing here? It was Friday night, sure, but she had work to be getting back to. This endless restlessness had been getting worse and ever since the last time Percy Jackson had evaded her, it had meant longer nights and more cups of coffee. She was constantly examining different threads of possibilities, pestering her contacts all around the world- oh, perhaps she should try contacting Luke Castellan from MI-6 once more? He did have more reach in Europe than she did, anyways.

When her date- what was his name, again?- stopped talking, she realized with a jolt that he'd asked her something. She gave him what she hoped was an apologetic grin and asked: "I'm sorry, what was that?"  
"Uh..." he looked slightly uncomfortable. "What is it that you do? As a job, I mean."  
"Ah." she swirled the glass in her hand around as she answered him. "I work for an investment firm. Athena holdings, on the 16th."  
The lie came easily now. The investment firm was her official job- it was the job she officially got her income from, the job she filed her taxes under, the job she had told her friends, her family, that she had. She'd long since stopped feeling guilty for it.  
"Oh," he said, with a hesitant smile. "I'm in finance as well. I usually cater to the more exclusive of our clientele, you know?"

Oh, Gods. He was trying to impress her.  
"What do you in the firm?" he asked, shoving a forkful of linguini into his mouth.  
"Uh, actually, I got a promotion quite recently," she said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I specialize in finding and isolating problems. Whether its an employee or a mismatch in yearly profits.." she shrugged, taking another sip of her drink.  
Her date's eyes were wide. "So you fire people or something?"  
She almost laughed at that. "Sure. Or something."

He chuckled. A few minutes of silence passed, where she tried to enjoy the overpriced food in front of her, before he started talking again- something about conspiracy theories on the government's surveillance. She tried to pay attention, she really tried, but her mind was distracted. What was wrong with her today?  
"-I mean, I thought about that after I visited my cousins in Paris once. Don't you feel like you're always watched though?"  
As he said that, something clicked in Annabeth's brain. She twisted around in her seat, scanning the people enjoying their expensive dinner in the quaint Italian restaurant. The hairs on the back of her neck were up.

Someone was _watching_ her.  
"Hey, you okay?" asked Mr. whats-his-name. "You need the waiter or something?"  
She mentally raced through the possibilities. Having spent the past two years in the field and the previous few years training, she had learned to trust her instincts. And she was willing to bet a significant amount of money on the possibility that her watcher was _not_ friendly.  
"Uhm," she said, when she realized there was an awkward silence as the brown-haired man just looked at her, an eyebrow raised. "I-I just realized there's a meeting I need to prepare for. I completely forgot. Gotta run, so sorry."  
As she stood up, so did he, face clouding over like a thunderstorm. "It's Friday."

"Yes. I know." She flung her bag over her shoulder, placing a fifty under her glass. "For the food."  
"You're really leaving right now?" the poor guy looked somewhere between incredulous and irritated.  
"I'm so sorry, Dustin.!I really have to leave." she shot him an apologetic smile and swung open the door, the chilly air raising goosebumps on her arms.  
"My name's Dylan!" he yelled after her, but she was already gone.  
Without so much as a backward glance at him, she pushed past the glass doors and stopped. Her breath misted and she just stood there, squinting into the dark night sky. The prickling feeling lingered and she pivoted. Who the hell was watching her? She walked, slowly, glancing about her as covertly as possible, casually smoothing her fingers over her issued pistol in her bag.

Then she froze.

With shaking fingers, she pulled out a vividly decorated invitation that _definitely_ had not been in there before.  
It was an expensive-looking invitation with a sticky note stuck to it.  
She cursed as she read the messy scrawl of his handwriting on the neon yellow note pasted to a gold-emblazoned invitation. She pulled it off the card and resisted the urge to crumple it and stamp on it. "Gods-dammit, Jackson!"

'_Come alone.' _was all that was written on the note. She swiveled, looking for the presence she had felt that had now disappeared. Dammit. It had probably been him, watching her and slipping this dratted invitation into her bag. Wow, she really must be losing her touch if she hadn't felt that happen. She scanned the dark rooftops, the pedestrians, late-night hustlers…. Nothing struck her as odd. He must be gone.  
Flipping back to the front of the invitation, she read:

'_Congratulations!  
__You have been officially invited to the private auction for exquisite Persian antiques from the Mughal period, held on the 23rd this month at Sotheby's private lounge!  
__Enclosed, is a single-admit pass for a night of unique artifacts, dinner and other pleasurable delights the Titanos family has to offer, presided over by Dr. Gaia Titanos and her son, Kronos!'_

"Who..what?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing at the tacky neon sticky note. She had never heard of this Dr. Titanos or her son and frankly had always found antiques quite fascinating and was slightly tempted to attend this event. Then reality slapped her on her face. Hard. What the heck was Jackson playing at? She had known him briefly in their time spent together in Georgia, training for the CIA. In the few weeks they had known each other, she had thought they were friends. But friends didn't lie to each other. He had lied. And then proceeded to do so much worse- turning rogue and destroying key evidence, aiding and abetting criminals and the Gods knew what else Langley hadn't recovered. And now he was asking her to attend an auction?

_Come alone.  
_Yeah, he could rot in hell. "That son of a bitch."

Beyond the incredulous frustration she felt, she had to admit (within the confines of her mind only) that she was a tad bit amused and impressed by this ballsy, stubborn man.  
_Besides_, she thought, _This may just be the big break I was looking for.  
_She tucked the sticky note inside the invitation and pulled out her phone, calling a number on speed dial. She was going to need advice from a superior for this.

"Agent Brunner, I'm going to need your help, sir. I think I know how to find Percy Jackson."

* * *

"You're shitting me."

Clarisse's jaw had dropped and so had the pen she had been chewing. It had clattered to the floor and no doubt had spread more of her despicable saliva and germs on the tiles, which irked Annabeth to no end. (But she had to admit, it wasn't the most disgusting thing she'd seen La Rue do.) Piper and Annabeth stood on either side of Clarisse's desk, where she propped her feet upon.  
"Nope." Annabeth dropped the Ziploc bag containing the invitation and the attached sticky note on the former's desk. "See for yourself."  
Clarisse picked up the bag, eyes wide and read aloud the note and invitation through the plastic.  
"Wow," she said, when she was done, a small smirk tugging the ends of her mouth up. "Damn, Chase. I guess I was wrong. He's not just got a boner for you."  
She paused for dramatic effect, a wide shit-eating grin growing on her pudgy face.  
"He's got a _really_ big boner for you."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, slapping the backside of the former's head. "Really? _That _is your first thought?"  
Clarisse shrugged, dropping the package back onto her mess of a desk.  
"That just really looks like he's askin' you out, blondie. I guess it's his idea of a mushy love letter, hm?" she snickered, wiggling her eyebrows.  
"Ugh." Piper groaned. "Shut it, Clarisse. Are we even sure this is Jackson? I mean, it could be anybody-" she turned to Annabeth "-right?"  
Annabeth shook her blond head, picking up the 'mushy love letter'. "It's definitely him. It has to be."

"It's not Percy Jackson." said a familiar voice, followed by the aging man on a wheelchair rolling towards them. "Handwriting specialists confirmed it."  
The man in the wheelchair looked completely at home in an underground room full of trained operatives, in his immaculate gray suit, polished shoes that he never had to use and closely cropped brown hair and beard that were now graying with age.  
All three women gaped at him.  
"Sir, with all due respect-" Annabeth began, recovering first. "-it _has_ to be him, who else-"

"There are no prints and no other traceable clue to indicate that this is Agent- I mean, _former_ trainee-Jackson's doing, Annabeth." Brunner's eyes were a swirling brown fortune ball of weariness, affection and something else she couldn't decipher. She knew the man had been an excellent an agent in his prime. There had even been rumors that he had been offered the position of the Director, but that he had passed it up, claiming he had no right or reason to sit at a desk while his comrades risked their lives for their country everyday. She had always thought of him as her mentor and never passed up an opportunity to seek his advice or snatch any pieces of his experiences he may throw her. "The director hasn't given me the green light to proceed with this-"  
"-What do you mean, we can't make a move? We've got to put this area under surveillance, he'll turn up, or even better- a few undercover agents-"

"-Annabeth, this Dr. Titanos mentioned in the invitation seem to have connections to almost all the major players: the Yakuza, several branches of the Russian mafia in the States. They have been on the Agency's radar for quite a while now and there has been chatter of building a relationship with terrorist groups in the Middle-East, so we know they are actually the real deal, but _you_-"

"-What? Why would Jackson-"

"- have nothing to do with that case, so it will be handled-"

"-send me this? I have nothing to do with any of this! And neither does he, so-"

"Agent Chase! If you would stop interrupting me then perhaps your doubts will be cleared!"  
Annabeth shot him a sheepish smile, ducking her head and murmuring an apology.

"As you know, Mr. Jackson has been leaving you- and therefore the Agency- helpful clues and even outright doing some of our jobs. We can't claim to understand what his motives are for these, but either way he is unpredictable and cannot be left unchecked."  
Everyone nodded complacently.  
_We know,_ Annabeth had to refrain from saying. _Get on with it._

"However," Agent Brunner said, removing a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and pushing it up his long, crooked nose. He looked Annabeth in the eye and it felt as though he were looking into her soul and trying to tell her something very badly with his eyes alone. "This situation is related to other cases and will be handled. It most probably isn't Jackson. So you aren't authorized for any official action, whatsoever. Do you understand me?"

Annabeth studied him. Both arms on his lap and a clear gaze, betrayed no nervousness or distress. But she got the feeling he was somewhat unsettled. Was it just her imagination or did he emphasize the word '_official'_? Did he perhaps also think this had something to do with Jackson?

"Yes, sir." she said, not breaking the eye contact. "Understood."

She had an opportunity and she wasn't going to let it go.

* * *

**One year ago: The Farm, Georgia**

Someone was banging at her door.  
She groaned, rolling around and scrambling for her phone.

2:09 AM, the blue light blinked at her. Confusion and anger bled through the haze of drowsiness. Who the hell was that at her door?  
Sweeping back the locks of hair on her face, she threw off the covers and drudged to the source of the incessant banging, ready to give the unwelcome intruder a piece of her mind. She flung the door open and blinked in momentary surprise at a disheveled-looking Percy. Then the annoyance set back in.

"What the hell?" she snapped at him. "Its two in the morning!"  
He looked like he hadn't slept a wink and was fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flitting back and forth nervously.  
"Annabeth," he began, hesitating. He glanced up and down the corridor once more like he was worried someone would find him. "I… there's.. I want you to know-um,.."  
He groaned, frustrated, running a hand through his already messy hair, gripping it like he couldn't find the words.

"Percy, you freaking woke me up for this. The least you could do is spit it out." she leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms, a brow raised. Percy rubbed a hand over his face and blew out a steady breath like he was working up the courage to say whatever it was. His eyes met hers and her concern for him grew as she studied the conflict in his eyes. This was important.  
She opened her mouth to ask him again-and froze, eyes widening and her arms fell to her sides, limp.

Because he was suddenly kissing her.

She half-wondered in some rational part of her mind that was far, far away, how he could stand the taste of her un-brushed mouth- before she responded. Percy Jackson was_ kissing_ her. Something she'd not realized she'd wanted until it was happening. Her arms came up to his shoulders to steady herself and she kissed him back, tingles of excitement and heat zinging down her spine. One of his hands gripped her waist as he pressed her against the wall and the other traced up her back. She opened her mouth as his tongue swiped against her lower lip and suddenly any lingering thought of morning breath (or mid-night-breath, as it were) were out. Her fingers tangled in his soft hair and she tugged, eliciting a husky groan that had her toes curl. She leaned up onto her toes as he nipped at her lip and-

He broke away, breathing loudly, eyes frantic and wild like he couldn't believe what he'd just done. A twinge of insecurity pressed in on her- did he regret it?  
"I-I-" he brought a hand to his lips, eyes still wide. "I'm sorry!"  
Then he turned and nearly ran away.

She had stood there, dazed and confused, for what felt like an eternity before she made it back to her bed and crashed.

The next day, everyone was buzzing about him. Why?  
Because Percy Jackson was missing.  
And he'd taken with him a high-security prisoner that none of the recruits had even _known_ was being held at the Farm.

Rumors were spreading like magical wildfire and all sorts of theories surfaced; Chris Rodriguez surmised that Percy was an undercover KGB operative who'd waited for the right moment to sabotage the CIA and steal their information. Ethan Nakamura's ingenious theory was that Percy had had beef with the CIA and had pretended to be a recruit to make things difficult for them as a form of revenge. Mossad, gangs, Al Qaeda- several other ridiculous theories were flying around and Annabeth didn't know what to think. She had no idea what Percy was doing, let alone thinking, and she had no idea why he'd kissed her if he was leaving- she had no idea why she even cared anymore. He was a traitor and clearly, she didn't seem to know him at all. What had been lies and what had been truth? She had no way of knowing.

And she had no idea that that would be the last time she would see him for the next eight months.

* * *

**Present Day**

Her dress was tight and the tranquilizer gun she had fit into the garter on her thigh was chafing. It was hard to sneak in a real gun with real bullets into a place with such tight security, especially without the Agency to back her up. For now, she was on her own. Besides, she didn't really want to_ kill_ Jackson.  
Outwardly, there was no sign of her discomfort, only a serene smile that she hoped conveyed to the rest of the guests in the room that she was a connoisseur and an admirer of all things antique. She peered at a particular flowered vase from the 16th Century and pretended that the rustic paint and peeling lacquer awoke her artistic libido.

The structure of the room, however, was something to be admired. The tall columns supported a high ceiling that disappeared into shadows, the flickering medieval-style lanterns illuminated the old paintings on the wall and the polished balustrades were a contrast to the ebony of the bar-like rails of the stairs. An architectural masterpiece.  
Despite the grandeur of the place and the people-illustrated by the milling waiters handing flutes of champagne to elitist guests from well-balanced trays- Annabeth felt the seediness of their trade seep into their smirks and pompous-ass attitudes.

"Oh, ma'am please don't touch that." A man balancing a tray of empty glasses said to her. "Do stay behind the line."  
She looked down and saw the thin ribbon stuck to the plush carpet. Of course. _Of course,_ there was a goddamned line. She smiled at him in acquiescence as he nodded and walked away. Then she turned and ran a finger down the vase, just to be contrary.

"He did say you should stay behind the line, you know." a familiar voice intoned.

It was like a switch had been flicked; she tensed, slowly withdrawing her finger from the hideous, floral vase, clenching her jaw.  
She didn't turn, but she could _feel_ him, standing there with his trademark troublemaker smirk, the arrogant bastard. From the corner of her eye, she could see him leaning against the wall, champagne in his hand; the picture of ease and calm. Erratic heat pulses- of what she could only assume was anger- flared up her gut. She wanted to slam him against the wall and knee him in the crotch.

He waited what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only thirty seconds or so before- "What? No welcome hug, Beth?"

"_Don't _call me that." a low snarl ripped forth from her throat. She finally turned, facing him and the rest of the opulent set of guests and couldn't stop the slight scowl from appearing onto her face.

Percy Jackson.  
Nearly a year of overtime and anticlimactic near-misses and here he was, in the flesh.

He looked the same. Same stubble on his jaw, same piercing sea green eyes, same untameable, raven hair. Clad in a black tuxedo and sipping from a half-empty flute of champagne, he looked every bit the badass agent he'd been trained to be. Like a hotter, younger James Bond. _Jesus_, she was losing her mind.  
If she hadn't already known him well enough from their brief time in the farm, she sure as hell knew him now after detailed research into him and his relations. She could visualize her screen blinking the information up at her as though she could make something of it: _Age 29, no known criminal connections, ex-CIA __trainee__, Immediate family: A mother: Sally Jackson (writer), Stepfather: Paul Blofis (Teacher), distant cousins-_

"I called you that before." Percy said. "You didn't have a problem with it, then."

How dare he. How _dare _he stand there looking composed and excruciatingly, annoyingly _edible_\- she savagely cut off that train of thought.

"Well, _before_\- you weren't a rotten piece of self-serving scum and you were my friend." She cast him a scathing glance. "Now, you're not. I thought at least _that_ much was clear."

A flash of what appeared like genuine hurt simmered in his eyes and he frowned, blinking, before he murmured-more to himself, than her- "Guess I should've expected that."  
She had a sudden flash of punching him to unconsciousness and found savage pleasure in that idea.

"Tell you what, Jackson." she said, sidling upto him, grabbing the drink. "Why don't you and I take a little...walk around this place."

She grabbed his arm, tucking it into her elbow, slightly surprised by the lack of resistance on his part- he seemed far too compliant- sticking to the walls. His lack of resistance set off alarm bells in her head and her guard went up. Well, more so than before.  
"Just _what _did you think was going to happen when I got here?" she hissed at him, placing his glass onto a passing waiter's tray.  
"Hey! I wasn't done with that!"

She glared at him, wanting nothing more than to jab him in the face with her elbows and demand answers.  
She gripped his elbow tighter and dragged him down a small corridor branched off from the main ballroom, lined with potted plants and paintings that were no doubt worth ten times her salary. She shoved him up against the wall and his eyes widened as he felt the muzzle of the gun she had pulled out of her holster, against his ribs. It was all plastic and only a tranquilizer, but he couldn't see it so he couldn't know that.

"Now." she breathed. "You're going to come with me or I will shoot your ass out of here, because I am _done _with your bullshit."  
He had the nerve to chuckle.

"I'm impressed," he said, looking pointedly in the direction of her gun. "You got that through the tight security."

"Yes, well I definitely did that with your approval in mind." she sneered at him. "Now walk-"

"Is there a problem here?" interrupted a waiter, with narrowed eyes, as he stood at the entrance to the corridor.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Percy leaned forward and pulled her closer at the same time, tracing her cheeks with his nose, breathing into her ear. She froze. One arm spread across her back and the other drew lazy circles on her waist.  
And as though they'd been in the middle of something and had been interrupted, he looked up, an easy smile spreading across his face.  
"Oh, no. Not at all," he said, brushing a light kiss onto Annabeth's forehead and she tried to mask her shock and anger at the gesture. He winked at the waiter, gripping the gun in her hand and pressing it into the side facing away from the intrusion. "Just-uh, got a little distracted by the-uh- _art_, you know."

Percy gestured vaguely to the art on the walls, but his smirk made evident was he was insinuating. Annabeth's ears grew pink and she nearly opened her mouth to protest but realized that was probably the best cover that they could maintain currently.  
"Ah." the waiter looked appropriately uncomfortable. "Well, the auction had begun, so I suggest-"  
"Yes, yes," Percy said, sweeping her under his arm and waltzing past the waiter. "Thank you."  
She tucked the gun back into the holster as discreetly as she could.

"By the way," he whispered right into her ear. (She ignored the goosebumps that rose against her skin) "I know that's only a tranquilizer."  
Annabeth wisely held her tongue, but shoved her elbow into his sternum, enjoying his pained intake of breath perhaps a bit too much.

* * *

**Soooo, What'd you think? What do you expect? And what do you think happened at the farm years ago?**  
**This is just part 1, part 2 will come out soon**


	2. Chapter 2

**So... Yeah I realise this is a late update, but what can ya do? *Nervous laughter*  
Also, I've decided that this is now a Three-shot. There's a lot more research I had to do about the CIA and how it works, and there will be a lot of plot holes unless I can clarify them in the last installment of this story- which will definitely be sometime after the New Year. Belated Merry Christmas, y'all! **

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Sold to the highest bidder, at five point nine million!" the auctioneer (who had introduced himself as a Mr. Krios) called, gesturing for the next item to be placed on the stand.  
Annabeth leaned toward Percy.  
"What exactly are you looking for?" she whispered.  
"Don't you mean 'What exactly are _we_ looking for'?" he countered, a placid smile stretched on his face.  
"No," she refrained from scowling at him, not allowing him to see that he had managed to rile her up. "I'm here for _you_, not this dumb auction."  
Percy's hand twisted over his chest and he gave her a mock-swooning expression. "Oh, Beth!" he whisper-cried, "how romantic!"  
He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. She wanted to stab him in said eye.

"Jackson, _tell_ me or so help me God-"

"All right, all right, chill," his eyes sparkled with the humor that she had found so annoying yet endearing, back when they were friends. The familiar sight only tightened her heartstrings and her throat closed up. "I have it on good authority that there is a digital ledger buried in one of those antiques."

They eyed the neat array of antiques lining the raised platform on the side.  
"Like, a chip?" she asked, and he nodded. "And you don't know which one it is?"

"Oh we'll know, soon," he said, cryptically. When she raised her brows at him, he elaborated:  
"Mrs. Cronus over there-" he pointed at a lady with a gauzy, golden shawl wrapped around her, and a ridiculous updo, "-she'll be bidding for it. And then we just need to cause a distraction, and take it."  
He smiled like it was the simplest thing in the world.  
"So this is how you do things now," she said, leaning back into her seat, arms folded. Someone had made a bid that no one was challenging yet. (Mr. Krios yelled "_Going Once.._") "Lying, _stealing_-"

"And how would it be different from what the Agency does?" he asked, for once presenting a good point. "Spooks don't bother with warrants, sweetheart... this is only different because I don't have to wait for official approval to catch the bad guys."  
His smirk was causing her nerve ends to explode. With a_nger,_ obviously, because anything else was unacceptable. The point hit home, as she thought about her presence here. She hadn't been authorized to be here, either. What was she doing different from him, right now?  
_No,_ she thought, shaking herself out of her self-doubt. _I'm not doing this for any hidden agenda- I'm bringing him in_.

The thought didn't bring as much comfort as she would've expected it to. Her conscience mocked her.

"Our job is protecting national security via _information_\- _sweetheart_," she threw the barbed endearment back at him. "Not '_catching_' bad guys. You _knew_ what you were signing up for."

He opened his mouth, as though retorting, but shook his head, a puff of breath leaving him. Apparently, he had nothing to say to that.  
As childish as it was, she couldn't help but feel a little satisfied that she'd won the argument. Point to Annabeth. Shame flushed her cheeks. What was she, twelve? She resisted the urge to reach through the slit in the side of the dress to grab her tranq gun.

"And the next item," called Krios, with a placid face. "is a sixteenth-century ancient _Suraki –_ A ceremonial jug in the Mughal period..."

Annabeth could not have been any less interested in any of this, but as soon as the auctioneer started the bid, Mrs. Cronus pressed her call button and a light flashed on the auctioneer's panel.

As a somewhat improvement to the traditional idea of an auction, there were no 'paddles' to raise when making a bid. Instead, there were these wired devices that relayed the bid straight to the auctioneer, protecting the identity of the bidders from each other. However, whoever had created this method, clearly hadn't accounted for plain old observation. Granted, it was hard to notice someone discreetly pressing a button- she wouldn't have noticed, if she hadn't been _looking_ for it. And really, the creator of this system couldn't have thought of snooping CIA agents in the midst of a black market auction held for the snobby elite, could they?

"We have a six hundred thousand!" the auctioneer called.

"That's her," Percy murmured, and she was immediately annoyed that he had noticed too. She hummed noncommittally. The bidding rose- up to hundred thousand, and Annabeth was in awe of how dumb rich people could be. Why spend so much money on an item that was of no practical use? Sure, sometimes making lucrative investments would make sense, but none of these items seemed to fall under that category.  
Midway through the next bid, Percy leaned toward her conspiratorially, close enough for her skin to tingle in anticipation. His breath was warm against her ear.

"You're going to need to provide me with a distraction, while I get the chip," he whispered, as goosebumps rose against the skin on her neck. "once it's over."  
"What?" A distraction? Yeah, _right_. Like she was going to let him out of her sight, but she'd let him think she was on his team for now, and play along. "What exactly do you mean by a distraction?"

He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the security lining the walls, the auctioneer and the several helpers that handled the items with a delicacy that meant they knew its' worth.

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure," he said, popping an olive from a nearby tray of Hors d'oeuvres into his mouth. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Beth."  
Her heart skipped a beat and spiked with adrenaline. She _did_ love a challenge. A plan took root in her mind and she analyzed the room and its occupants.  
"I think I've got it," she said, a while later, deciding to brave the weird meaty-looking appetizer on her side of the tray.  
As she explained her plan to him, a slow smile spread across his (sinful) mouth.  
"Well," he said, eyes alight with mischief. "Complexity is overrated. Let's do it."

* * *

By the time the auction was over, she had run over her plan more than ten times, mentally, making improvements, adding back-up plans. As they were all escorted out from the darkened auction room to the more opulent ballroom, she stopped Percy with a hand to his chest.  
"Oh, wait- I forgot one more thing," she said, leaning up into him. His eyes widened and he blinked slowly.  
"Yeah?" his voice sounded slightly breathy, which to be fair, could have been her imagination, because her lips were now a hair's breadth shy of his ear. She wasn't, however, imagining the thunderous increase in the pace of his heartbeat, from the hand that pressed against his chest.  
"If you think, for _one_ moment, that you're not ending up in the trunk of my car tonight- heading to Langley, you're in for a huge disappointment, Capische?" Her nails pressed into his tux and her other arm snaked around his biceps, and she carefully inserted one of her GPS tracker devices into the outside pocket of his jacket. Triumph raced through her when he didn't notice. "I'm here for my own agenda, and mock me all you like- but while you may have run away from me before, I'm a CIA Agent for a reason. Don't try to double-cross me, Jackson."

He drew a ragged breath.  
"Annabeth-" he began, but she brushed past him, accepting the proffered hand towel from a uniformed waiter, with a smile.

Then she stopped cold, dread uncoiling in her stomach.

"Percy," she whispered to him, as he sidled up to her side. "Do you know who that is?"

He followed her gaze to a tall, blond man, in an immaculate suit, hair combed neatly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he said something to a group of people and they all laughed. He flashed them a blinding, white hundred-watt grin and sipped champagne.  
"Eugh, Mr. Toothpaste ad is back," Percy sighed. "Yeah, that is Luke Castellan, Kronos' protégé- you know who Kronos is right, the-"

She turned to him, jumpy.  
"I think our plan needs to change," she breathed, her mind already working the angles, cogs turning in her mind. "Luke Castellan- he's my MI6 contact. I need to find out if he's a double agent or if he's undercover-"  
"Oh, he is definitely not undercover, Beth," Percy's eyes were wide. "He's known Kronos all his life. He's... MI6? Wow, that's- that's perfect actually!"

"What? How on earth is that perf-"  
"I think this is all going to be over sooner than I thought!" he grinned at her, suddenly energized. "The plan doesn't need to change, Beth- just go with it."

And before she could so much as shake her head no, he was gone, slipping through the crowd, heading toward the cordoned off area, rigged with alarms.

She cursed under breath and skirted the throng, heading in the opposite direction. She'd have to deal with the alarms first, then she could change the plan. Once she reached the vase she'd seen before, she swiftly removed the heavy plaque in front of it- a quick sleight of hands move she'd learned from a friend and tucked it into the crook of her arm. She glanced around to make sure no one's eyes were directly focused on her, and threw the plaque through the metal detector at the entrance to the room.

A wailing siren went off, a stark contrast to the soft music playing through the speakers. The crowd surged, a few guests yelled- in surprise or outrage?- and a loud collective murmur ripped through them all. Annabeth moved back into the thick of the crowd, before the security personnel rushed through to examine the area.  
"Everyone, please calm down," a voice called over the speakers. She turned around, with the rest of the guests, to find a sturdy, middle-aged man holding a microphone. "Our security personnel is the highest paid in the industry- and we all know, money never lies."

A light bout of nervous laughter rippled through the throng. Something about this man struck her as very familiar.  
"Please enjoy the rest of the night." he gestured to the side tables of extravagant food and wine.

His eyes were a dull, metallic amber-gold, Annabeth noticed, and he had one of those faces that got better looking with age. There was a chilling promise in his tone when he said: "And rest assured we will take care of any... problems, whatever they may be."

It was only when he set the mic down and rejoined the rest of his guests, did she realize that he was familiar because _he_ was Kronos. Modern-day warlord, mafia leader, crime king supreme. And it had been a huge mistake to follow him with her eyes, because once she did- her eyes met the blue irises of Luke Castellan.  
"Ah, fuck," she muttered under her breath, as Luke's eyes widened and he didn't look away from her, even as he murmured something to Kronos and the rest of his group, striding away from them...

Toward her.

_Shit, shit, shit_. This was _so_ not the plan.  
_Okay, __okay- you can improvise,_ she told herself. _He doesn't need to know exactly why you're here, and he certainly doesn't know that you know he's a double agent and a traitor- although you _are_ working with Percy for now, who is pretty much the same thing, but also not, 'cuz he's technically helped us-_  
"Annabeth Chase," Luke's smooth, deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She willed her facial muscles into a placid smile, betraying none of her inner conflict and jitters. "I'm surprised to see you here."  
"Luke Castellan," she mirrored, picking up a glass from a passing waiter's tray and gulping the bubbly liquid down in one go. "I could say the same of you."  
He flashed that bright smile again, eyeing her in what most passers-by would conclude as interest, but she sensed his wariness. His guard was up. He knew something was not right. Adrenaline spiked her veins and her heartbeat hastened. She knew that Percy could have been wrong about Luke being a double agent, he could be here undercover- like she was. But she didn't think so. Okay, so technically, _she_ wasn't here on _official _CIA work either-  
"And you're undercover?" he asked, offering her an elbow that she had no choice but to grasp, as they slowly strolled along the banquet table. Now that she paid more attention, his British accent was slightly off.  
"Oh, come on," she threw a simpering smile of her own at him. "you know how this works. The less we know about each others' jobs, Langley and-"

"Agent Chase, don't insult my intelligence," he interrupted. She realized with a start, that Kronos was now focused on her quite openly, an amused light in his strange eyes. Luke was leading her toward a secluded area, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed a section of the guards were converging in front of her and at their sides, as though cutting off her escape routes. "You're not here on orders from Langley."  
She wasn't delusional- there was very little chance of surviving, much less, escaping- but there was no way she'd let the wave of desperate panic that caused her pulse to throb erratically, take over. She had already assumed the worst, so the idea of being isolated in a hostile, unfamiliar environment, with the inevitable outcome being her capture/death, induced the familiar buzz of a high-stakes situation. This was what she thrived in.  
_Bring it,_ she thought, her silent challenge reflected in Luke's blue eyes.  
"And you," she said, setting down her drink on the banquet table. She might as well have both hands free. "are not here on your government's order, either."  
He regarded her with a grudging respect, a grim smile, razor-thin spreading over his face.  
"We understand each other then," he said. Suddenly the uniformed guards were all around her. "I'll assume you know what comes next?"  
And she had no choice but to follow where he led her. But she was far from powerless. And they would soon realize that.

* * *

Luke dumped the contents of her small clutch purse onto the table: her phone, keys, a silver tube of lipstick, a hairpin, and a mini GPS tracker. She had brought extra, and she thanked the Gods that she'd already put one on Percy before this. He picked up the phone and an amused smile tugged at his lips when he viewed her locked screen.  
"The Parthenon?"  
She shrugged. She didn't need to explain her love of architecture to him, minutes before he was going to kill her. The room they were in looked like another administrator's office in a generic museum, with its blinds drawn shut, a metal, standard-issue desk, with someone's name plaque, a small vase of fake flowers and a pen stand. There were two men besides Luke in the room, on either side of the only door, like sentries. They didn't wear shades, like cartoon bodyguards, but they did have earpieces that she spied peeking from their ears, the looping wire edging down to the collar of their suits.  
Luke Castellan threw the phone onto the ground and it cracked with a resounding thwack. Picking up the tracker and digging out the SIM card, he handed them to one of the sentries, presumably for further destruction, and the man left the room.  
Her heart thundered in her chest, thinking of only the tranquilizer gun strapped to her thigh. She wished she'd brought a real gun to this.

"Annabeth," Luke sighed, smoothing back his gelled blond hair. When his watery blue eyes met hers, she wondered how she had ever found him handsome. "I really wish it didn't have to be you."  
When she said nothing, just staring at him in contempt, he drew his bottom lip into his mouth, reaching behind him and pulling out a shiny black revolver from his waistband. A Colt.45. Of-course. Of _course,_ he had a gods-damned revolver, like some Al Pacino, mustache-twirling villain. Gods, would she ever get a break?

He moved toward her slowly, like he had all the time in the world- which, to be realistic, he probably did- checking the cylinder for bullets and rolling it (for what she assumed could only be dramatic effect); He snapped it back into place when he was mere inches from her, and placed its cold barrel against her pulse point on her neck. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she couldn't pretend she wasn't a bit scared.

"How," Luke asked, leaning in until he spoke directly into her ear. Her spine stiffened. "did you know I was here?"

Momentary confusion flashed through her- why did Luke think she was here for him?- then it struck her that of course, he wouldn't think she was here because of _Percy_. He thought she'd discovered his treachery and somehow infiltrated the place. Alright. She'd let him think that and hopefully, he'd divulge more than what he would otherwise. Granted, that knowledge wouldn't be of much use to her or anyone else if she died, but she tried not focusing on that too much. She was _not_ going to die.

She had the advantage here, and she'd use it. As much as Percy wasn't trustworthy, she didn't think he'd let her die here. In this unremarkable office, in some obscure museum. She had to hope Percy would realize she wasn't where she was supposed to be and help her. She _had_ to believe he would. And she also had herself to rely on.  
"I suspected it, from your information regarding Percy Jackson's whereabouts," she lied, her voice came out solid and firmer that she felt inside, and for that she was grateful. "It was far too accurate to have been anything but information acquired from means other than the MI6."

Luke's mouth twisted like he'd tasted something sour.  
"Percy Jackson," he muttered, "of course _he's_ the reason."  
She didn't really have to wonder what that meant. If Luke was on the other side of the law, then Percy was as much a nuisance to him as he was to her- or more, since he was technically helping the CIA.  
The barrel of the revolver traced down the side of her neck and to her collarbone, like a cold caress and she couldn't help flinching slightly.

He seemed delighted by her reaction and pressed closer, relishing her discomfort at his proximity, a light laugh fluttering her hair.  
From beneath the fear and denial, rose a wave of terrible, burning anger. She didn't come this far to die, she couldn't- she _wouldn't_. Her hands shook- with anger, but hopefully Luke interpreted this as her fear- as she pressed one to his chest, pushing him back. This did not serve as a deterrent and only urged Luke to further shove her against the industrial desk, forcefully enough that she heard the vase with the fake flowers crash to the floor.  
She glared at him, to find him grinning at her. He pushed forward, until he breathed her in, nose tracing her jawline, gun pressed to her throat. She braced one arm against the desk for support, mind whirling, throat clogged in disgust. The metallic taste of fear that coated the inside of her mouth receded to the anger that exploded from every pore.

He hadn't checked her for any weapons- no doubt because of the security- and he hadn't restrained her, he hadn't even relieved her of her watch. Being underestimated was in her favor and she'd use his ignorance against him.

His other hand came up to grasp her waist.  
"Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth," he said, his voice deep and coaxing, like she was an animal he'd need to tame. "you make it too easy to get under your skin."

"_Get. Off. Me_." she hissed, one hand shoving pointlessly at his arms and the other edging toward her holster at her thigh. "You don't need to bother with torturing me for information or whatever, so you can just get _on_ with it and kill me-"

Luke barked out a laugh.

"Information?" he looked infinitely amused, the hand on her waist traveling up until it rested on the underside of her breast. She choked back her fury, her disgust until it almost physically choked her. _Just get the tranq._ Her eyes roved over Luke's shoulder, to the burly man standing stoic, against the wall, arms crossed, staring at nothing. "Sweetheart, I know more than you do about the ongoings of your own Agency."

Her eyes snapped to his, and she didn't have to fake her shock. "What?"

He grinned at her fully now, patronizing.  
The MI6 definitely wouldn't be privy to that information, and definitely not... Kronos, if that was indeed who Luke was working for. And as much as she wished he was bluffing, the smug satisfaction in his tone and on his face, suggested otherwise. That could only mean... someone at the CIA was leaking information.  
The familiar urgency to know more rose up in her and she found herself another reason to stay alive: she had to warn the Agency that there may be a rat.

She grabbed Luke's collar with one hand, pulling him toward her. He didn't react the way she would have expected him to: he didn't resist. He didn't shoot her, or call for help or slap her and even the guard stood unfeeling, not reacting at all. As promising as that was, she doubted his confidence stemmed from his belief in her incompetence alone. He was confident in his allies- in the security of this unfamiliar place. Her stomach roiled; could she really get out of here?

She inhaled slowly. His gun moved from her throat to press against her ribs.  
She grasped the handle of the tranquilizer, knowing that the click sound it made when she removed it from its holster would be enough to draw Luke's attention to it. She was stuck and she needed a distraction.  
"Why haven't you- killed me yet?" she bit out, stalling for time.

Luke didn't bother answering- not with his words- as he dipped his head to her jaw once more, this time tracing its outline with his mouth.

Horror washed through her.  
"_No,_" she choked out, the repulsed disbelief in her voice genuine. "you _bastard_."

He chuckled against her neck and she lost it. _Screw it_. Screw the sound the gun would make- she would end this fucker- the rage grew until it reared like a cobra striking its prey and she removed the tranq-

A longer, louder siren than the one she had unleashed wailed through the compound and both Luke and guard were momentarily distracted. She twisted, shot once, twice slamming the flat of her hand against Luke's hand, the revolver clattering and skidding across the marble floors. He toppled over, unconscious and she shot the guard before he could react. The toxin worked quickly and the guard slumped against the wall, sliding down.

The siren continued, on and on and she exhaled shakily, her brain catching up with her body's reflexive actions.  
"Fuck," she breathed. This was just the easy part.

Someone banged the door.  
"Sir!" a voice yelled. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. "Do we investigate? Nakamura says Jackson may be here!"

_Nakamura?_ Her heart thundered in her chest, eyes darting to the window. She lifted the blinds. _Bingo! _It wasn't barred!  
"Sir!?" the guard on the other side rapped on the door once more. "Sir?"

Shit, she was running out of time and options. She dragged the heavy chair from behind the desk and wedged its wooden back beneath the handle of the door.  
The banging continued and she heard one of the voices yell to another.

Annabeth grabbed Luke's revolver and strapped her tranq gun back into her holster.

The door shuddered again, as she unlocked and slid open the window, cold air biting her exposed skin. She hurriedly pulled up her dress, cursing the dress code and climbed over, landing on the cold concrete of the ground outside.  
"Mr. Castellan!" the disembodied voice on the other side yelled. "We're breaking down the door sir!"  
She strapped her sturdy footwear tighter and ran.

* * *

Annabeth was sure she was going to be captured or shot about three times in ten minutes. The first two times, she shot them before they saw her, but she was faced with the ever-growing certainty that her luck would run out. The third time-

"You're welcome, Beth," Percy said, blowing off imaginary smoke from his gun, before she launched herself at him.  
He yelped in surprise and pain when she landed a square punch on his face.

She cursed, shaking out her hand, a curse that he echoed, gingerly tracing the shiner she'd given him.  
"Not the kind of bruise I was hoping you'd give me, Chase," he choked out, a hint of his amusement leaking through.  
"You asshole!" She didn't think her knuckles could take another punch so she just raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it, thrusting it back at her. "I_ told_ you we needed to change the plan!"

Before she could say much more, shots rang out.  
Percy swore and tugged her to the side, as they ran along the wall.  
"Do you even _have_ an escape plan here? Or are we just running _blindly_ in circles until we're fucking captured or _dead_?" she spat at him, unable to control her ire.

"I've got help, Chase, don't worry,"  
For someone telling her not be worried, he looked plenty worried.  
"That is not reassuring in the least." she hissed.

"Yeah, well- unfortunately- I'm all out of reassuring vibes, okay-"

"What's the Gods-damned exit strategy dude-"  
"There!" He pointed at a car, its engine still running, parked very conveniently at the edge of the godforsaken parking lot. He turned to grin at her. "What'd I tell you, Wisegirl?"

But she was already pushing past him, running despite the stitch in her side and her erratic panting. IT was an old, beat-up blue Prius, that did not fit in with the rest of the flashy, glamorous Lamborghinis and Porsches. Which begged the question: How on earth did he get it in here, unnoticed?  
All thought, however, flew out of her head, when she heard another shot ring out.

And then pain ripped through her shoulder and the cold concrete rose up to meet her.  
She heard a distant whine of pain and a shout before she was overwhelmed with the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears and the steady warmth of her pulse as it drained out of her and onto the ground beneath.

* * *

As much as she wished she'd fallen unconscious, she hadn't. The pain was all she felt for a good ten seconds- until Percy was suddenly there, flipping her over, eyes scanning her face. He looked stricken.  
"Annabeth!" his voice was hoarse like he'd already expected the worst.  
She grunted at the pain of moving, reaching for his shoulder to pull herself up.  
"I'm fine, it's a flesh wound. Let's get the hell out of here," she said, teeth gritted against the stinging, throbbing agony that emanated from her shoulder.

Instant relief flooded the lines on his face. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, and a whimper left her, unbeckoned.  
"This will be easier if you don't feel it," he said, expression as serious as she'd ever seen, as he jogged to the car, glancing behind. Each step sent a jolt of agony sizzling up her arm and she felt tears prick the back of her eyes.  
The shouts behind them were getting louder, the volley of shots dying down as they reloaded. Their reprieve wouldn't last long. Through the haze of pain, it took a couple of seconds before she processed his words. Wait, what?  
Before she could ask him, he'd set her down on the passenger's seat, seatbelt across her torso.  
"I'm sorry, Beth," she heard, before his fingers were on the back of her neck, squeezing. Realisation struck her and her eyes met his, but it was too late.  
She felt a whisper of his lips on her forehead- or had she imagined it?- before she succumbed to the calming, drowsy darkness.

* * *

When Annabeth woke, it wasn't like in the books she'd read- no confusion, no residual drowsiness, no '_Where am I?'_ s. Only a thundering heartbeat and clean bandages on her shoulder. She clutched at the sheets of an unfamiliar bed, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. She took a minute to calm her pulse and realized she was only wearing her bra and her underwear.  
_What the-?_  
_Jackson._

She was in a small bedroom, whose walls were painted a cool aqua blue, the blinds closed. Annabeth stretched and pulled off her covers, shivering at the relative cold, before swinging her bare feet off the mattress and onto the carpeted floor. A huge, clean sweatshirt was folded neatly on the bedside table, so she shoved it on, before leaving the room. (She ignored the suspicion that this was Percy's sweatshirt, even though it smelled like him.)  
Stepping onto the wooden paneling, her toes curling at the chill, goosebumps rising on the skin of her legs- the sweatshirt only came up to her lower thighs, she inspected her surroundings: A narrow, short corridor stretched on both sides, one side ending in a large window above a dresser, the blinds closed. No light poured forth from its edges, so she had to guess that the windows were either darkened, or it was night. She shuffled along through to the other end and found herself in a small apartment's living room.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.  
The living room looked… lived in. A small, faux fireplace crackled merrily, the mantelpiece decorated with knickknacks and a couple of framed photographs that she barely glanced at. A large, inviting brown sofa dominated the space before the television, a couple of rickety wooden chairs stood on a soft green rug. It looked warm and comfy and … like a _home_.

But all other thoughts of the room or its décor or the inhabitants flew out of the window when she spotted the open balcony, with the fluttering curtains and a lone figure outside. It was dark. So that could mean early morning or night. Just how long exactly had she been out?

"Percy?" she called, recognizing the man leaning against the railing of the balcony, wincing as the cold air bit into her skin as she walked up to him.

"You're up." he looked startled and concerned, eyes roving her bandaged shoulder, as though waiting for it to spontaneously start bleeding. "Are you- how're you feeling?"  
Warring emotions rose within her: exhaustion, confusion, desire, anger and deeper still- yearning and a touch of fear. Another voice within told her _this was Percy_. He'd never harm_ her_. Her insides shirked the very notion.  
_You don't know him as well as you'd like to think you do_, she told herself. Since she couldn't seem to trust her instincts around this man- this ball of contradictions- she'd trust in logic.  
"I'm fine." her voice came out husky, lined with sleepiness. "Where are we?"

He hesitated briefly, before placing a hand on her shoulder bandage, tracing it as though he were caressing the wound within. She didn't envision his touching her being a good idea, so she winced, hoping he'd take the hint. He breathed in and then out, slowly, before removing his hand and turning around to face the wind. She glanced out below: Normal bustling streets and distant honks of cars. This was downtown, she recognized the neighborhood-

"We're still in New York if that's what you meant," he said, his tone even, leaning against the railing once more.

"This..." she glanced back into the homey living room, recognizing the smiling baby in the mantelpiece photographs. "This is your mom's apartment."

"Yeah," he whispered, the sound swept up in the wind. He slid down the rails until he sat on the floor, knees bent.

"Percy, what the heck happened? Did you get the chip?"  
He nodded, absently, his gaze not wavering from the floor in front of him. She was beginning to get annoyed. She needed answers and he wasn't cooperating. As she opened her mouth to ask, he interrupted.  
"Do you remember the night I...left?" he asked, arm casually slung over his knees, a breeze fluttering his hair.

A brief flash of his lips on hers brought blood rushing to her face and she was glad it wasn't bright enough to notice. She cleared her throat, glancing away from him. "What about it?"

"I...," Percy began, "I wanted to say goodbye before leaving. That's why I came. But I couldn't.. get the words out."  
She said nothing, so he continued, words tumbling out faster like he was scared she wouldn't let him talk.  
"I know you won't believe me after- after everything that's happened, but I really want you to understand, Beth-" he glanced up at her and met her eyes, his full of sincerity and determination. She'd always thought he was easy to read, but she had to tell herself (again) that this man was not the one she had known. "- I _never_ lied to you about anything, I swear. And-"

A harsh laugh escaped Annabeth's lips.  
"You're kidding, right?" Another disbelieving laugh. "You broke out a prisoner and turned rogue the same gods-damned day! And what the heck was with that kiss? You turn up in the middle of the night and you _kiss _me and then the next day you're just gone?! You're a dick and a traitor-"

In a flash, he was up and his palm was against her mouth, shutting off her stream of expletives.  
His eyes glistened with regret and frustration and... tears?  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Really. You... I didn't handle that the way I should have. I wasn't supposed to come to see you that day, but I just.. I had to."

She slapped his hand away from her face and turned, stomach burning, stalking through the living room, into the kitchen. She needed water. And several pills, if she was going to listen to him.  
"Aspirin's in that drawer."

Wordlessly, she took it out and shook two of them into her mouth, swallowing them dry.

"Here." he handed her a glass of water which she immediately gulped down, barely glancing at him.

After what felt like an eternity of silence she asked: "Did you fix my shoulder?"

"I.. yeah."

"So where's my dress?"  
He looked sheepish. "I had to burn it."  
She only felt a distant sense of annoyance. Now she'd have to replace that dress. Then she remembered that he'd seen her in nothing but her undergarments and blushed again, this time in embarrassment and anger.  
"So you stripped me? Had a fun show?"  
Percy's jaw dropped, aghast. "What? No! How else was I supposed to stitch it up? Jeez, Annabeth, I would never- take advantage-"  
"Okay." He looks repulsed enough by the idea that she believed him.  
Silence reigned for a longer time than she'd anticipated before she decides she'd get something clarified- something that'd been nagging at her since she woke up in that blue room. "Why did you bring me here?"

Percy looked uncomfortable. "Well, I couldn't take you to a hospital and I'm pretty sure I can't trust you with my safe house, so... my mother's apart-"

"No, I meant," she interrupted him. "Why save me? Why not leave me to rot?"

He said nothing, just stared at her disbelievingly.  
"_How_ could you say that to me?" he rasped, fury igniting in his sea-green eyes, startling her with its ferocious suddenness. "How dare you? Do you not know me _at all_? I-"

"Yes, exactly." she seethed, getting right back at him, her own anger coalescing into lumps in her throat. "I _don't_ know you! I _thought_ I did and-"

"I told you, I _never_ lied to you! Everything I-"

"Oh yes, you never lied to me, Jackson- you only omitted the truth, you only turned away from everything you told me you believed in-"

They were at each others' throats, each choking in their indignant, righteous fury.  
"-said to you was_ real_, everything-"

"No, it wasn't! Actions speak louder than words!"

"- I _felt _for you was _real_!"

It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, she set the glass of water on the kitchen counter and slammed her palms into his chest, shoulder aching in protest.

"How _dare_ you!" tears pricked the corners of her eyes, more than a year of pent-up frustration, confusion, betrayal, wound into a tight knot was unwinding, escaping. She shoved at him again. "Everything you _felt_ for me? Fuck you! How dare you stand here and pretend that-"

"_Pretend_?" Percy's voice was a roar. "You think _I_ pretended? You think _this_ is _pretend_?"

And with that, his mouth was on hers.

Savage and demanding, his hands pressed to the small of her back, effectively pressing her to him, so close that no air was trapped between them. She could feel the genuine fiery desire in his frenzied kiss, edged with a desperation to make her believe him and her legs trembled. The rough material of his jeans pressed against her bare skin and he pressed her up against him until they were legs to legs, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and breathing in each other. All of her fury, pain fed the fire in her belly and it was trailing from her lips to his and backward.  
_Just one moment,_ she told herself, unsure if she actually believed it. _One._  
She let herself enjoy the heat that traveled to her stomach and further down, enjoy the feel of his lips-warm and so rough- against hers. Her heart ached and she felt the heaviness of tears in the back of her throat. Nearly two years- and she still hadn't gotten over this asshole.  
She was so close to twining her arms around his neck and molding her body to his, to give them both what they wanted- but she didn't want him to kiss her to prove a point. Pressing herself up onto her toes, she bit his lip.  
Hard.

Percy jerked back, shocked. He put his hand to his mouth and his fingers came away bloodied.

"You don't get to kiss me whenever you don't want to explain something, jerk." A tear rolled down her cheek and she hastily swiped it away. He stared at her in silence for a few seconds.

"I didn't do that so I wouldn't have to explain. I-" Percy shook his head, a frustrated groan escaping, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, stepping back. "I'm sorry. Gods, I really am horrible at this. I really want- no, _need_ you- to understand."

He sighed, stepping further back to give her space, pulling a rickety wooden chair and turning it, sitting backward so he and the back of his chair both faced her. Silence reigned for a full minute.

"Why?" she asked, finally. "Why did you leave? And why would you betray everything you stood for?"

He absently traced a pattern on the wooden back of the chair

"My Mom doesn't know I was ever in the CIA, you know," he said, tracing a pattern onto the back of the wooden chair. "Well, I wasn't _in_ the CIA yet, but you get the point. It's the only thing I've ever kept from her."

Annabeth didn't quite understand what his mother had to do with the answer to her question, but she listened, waiting for the explanation to make itself clear. She knew (from surveillance) that he hadn't visited his mother over the course of at least a year, and as far as she knew, hadn't called her either- she wondered what his mother possibly thought of her son's AWOL behavior.

"I think she would've found out sooner or later- the woman's very astute. I could never keep secrets from her." he laughed lightly, gaze turning to the pictures on the mantelpiece, through the kitchen door. A lifetime's evidence of love and a warm childhood. His mother must be an amazing woman.  
"But I guess you already know that I haven't been to see her in over a year. Haven't even called. But I still have ways of finding out how she's doing."

Annabeth hoisted herself onto the counter, legs dangling. She could tell this was going to take a while.

"Where is she now?" she asked, although she knew.  
He looked up at her, a knowing smile curving his lips.  
"Montauk Beach," he said. "I know you already know that, though."  
It was true, she did know. But _he_ wasn't supposed to know that she did. No matter, if she captured him today there would be no need for further surveillance anyway. She hummed, waving her hand for him to get on with it.

"I could've come to visit her without your surveillance teams finding out, you know?" he grinned at her impishly and she rolled her eyes at him.

"No you couldn't have." she retorted, but he shrugged.

"Yes, I could've. But I didn't," he leaned forward like this was important. "Because I didn't want her to get involved in my shit. There are dangerous people after me, Beth. And they're not beautiful badasses from the CIA, but so dangerous that a whiff of my presence would get them to me faster than your fastest trackers and agents."

Her heart skipped a beat at '_beautiful badasses_' and she cursed her gods-damned organs.

"I didn't tell you what I was doing the night I left because of the same reason. I wasn't supposed to tell you anything and I didn't want you to be involved." she almost scoffed, confusion and skepticism setting in, but she could tell he wasn't finished.

'The CIA has frequent polygraphs and check-ins, reviews and field tests- all of which have records. Once you're in, all the major players most likely know you're in. Do you understand?"

She didn't. "No."

Percy reached for her hand, pressing it between both of his. "This is important, Beth, you need to understand."

She read the earnest sincerity in his eyes and took a leap of faith.

"Okay."  
"There are people in the Agency who are working for the other side," his thumb traced hers. "There's more than one 'Other side', but you get what I mean. And these people are pretty high up in the food chain."  
She hated that her mind was already understanding the implications and calculating the possibilities, putting together coincidences that were no longer just coincidences. She could still hear the guard who's been banging on the doors in that museum: _'Nakamura says Jackson may be here!'_ ran over and over in her head. She knew a Nakamura: Ethan, her co-worker in the Clandestine Services, he'd even come on several missions to intercept Percy.

"I know this is going to be difficult to believe, but... I am working for the Agency. Not literally, but in spirit. I'm trying to obtain information on the identity of these leaks and... I'm trying to find proof. I have a superior in the Agency that I report to. So technically, I'm... not a rogue agent. I'm undercover."

* * *

**Enjoy your holidays and Happy New Year in Advance!  
Love, **  
**Shauna**  
**:D**


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